The Happiest Season of All
by passequine
Summary: "Ready, Mr. Beilschmidt?" "For you, Miss Martens? Always."
1. Chapter 1

"I hope you've kept it clean this time, Mr. Beilschmidt," a voice calls out to the shadow of a man getting up from his kneeling position, wiping a dirtied knife on his pantsuit. He can hear the echoing clicks of kitten heels marching down the hallway towards him.

"Always, Miss Martens," he answers with a slight smile, looking up from his work. He is greeted by a familiar fierce gaze and ruby red lips settled into a teasing pout.

"You've made a mess of your suit _again_, you fool," Emma tsks, readjusting the lapels of Ludwig's jacket and smoothing down his tie. Her hands linger on his broad chest before reaching his powerful arms as she looks down at his hands. "And look at your hands! Not to mention the carpet," she adds, tilting her head towards the soiled floor. "You know he won't be happy about this. This is the third time you've created a mess after you promised him we'd use subtler methods on our targets." She gets out a handkerchief from her clutch in an attempt to remove the blood from Ludwig's jacket.

He stops her midway, gripping he wrist with one arm and wrapping his other around her waist, pulling her closer in one swift move. Emma poses her hands on his shoulders daintily, looking up at him with one eyebrow raised in coquettish interest.

"You should know by now, Miss Martens," Ludwig smiles, dipping her slightly, "that I am not a man of my words."

She sighs, returning his smile with one of her own disarming grins. "Only in regards to certain affairs, if I recall last night," Emma teases, smile widening when she spots the slight red forming on her lover's cheeks. She leans forward, pecking him on the lips before lightly tapping the underside of his chin twice with one of her perfectly manicured fingers. "Now unhand me, Mr. Beilschmidt. This is all well and good, but we mustn't stall; we've got another client to see to before midnight. We'll send in someone else to clean up after you." She flattens the creases of her dress and her fur coat once he does so, watching her partner clean his hands with her handkerchief while she reapplies her rouge, smacking her lips for effect.

Once she is done, putting her lipstick back in her clutch, she holds out her arm expectantly towards the man she so adores. "Ready, Mr. Beilschmidt?"

He links arms with her, calm smile never falling off his face, eyes never straying from her twinkling eyes. "For you, Miss Martens? Always."

He throws her now used handkerchief over his shoulder before leading them back to the corridor, footsteps echoing in the darkness.

As murmurs of _You had better get me a new handkerchief_ and laughter following an _of course, darling_ reverberate through the darkness of the house, the handkerchief sways side to side as it flutters languidly to the ground, finally resting atop the marred head of another corrupted businessman, fallen victim to the couple's business. A steady stream of blood stems from the deep cut on his neck, pooling on the floor beneath his corpse.

Outside, the snow falls steadily on the streets of New York.


	2. Chapter 2

Lovino takes a long drag from his cigar, feet propped up on his desk, frowning angrily towards Ludwig and Emma standing in front of him. Les Brown's _I've got my love to keep me warm_ plays softly in the background.

"What the fuck did I tell you last week, goddamnit?! No knife! The messier it is, the easier it is for the police to track us!" he says, waving his cigar around heatedly in Ludwig's direction.

"I prefer knives," he answers curtly. "And we got the job done. Your client should be giving us the payment by tomorrow." Emma grabs his arm affectionately and pouts teasingly up at him.

"He never does listen," giving a dramatic sigh, she leans her head on his shoulder affectionately.

Lovino growls, still irate. "Get that romantic shit out of here, we don't have time for this. Listen, I don't give a fuck what you prefer; you know what happened to my grandfather's cousin _famiglia_ two years back? He-"

"- left a job unfinished and muddy, and his crummy job got his whole family in jail," primly finishes Emma. "We _know_, Lovino. You never cease to remind us."

The Italian scoffs, taking another drag from his cigar before replying. "I'm your fucking boss, you idiots, and I'm in charge of you both. If any of you fuck up, it's on me and it fucks up our whole establishment. Or worse, you might end up dead." He drops his feet from his desk before swiveling in his chair, shouting to the back of the room. "FELI! Shut the goddamn record player off, would you!?"

His brother's head pops out from the side of the doorframe, smiling brightly. "But _fratello_! Tomorrow is _il Natale_! Don't you think we should at least celebrate with music?"

"The mafia doesn't have time for fucking winter wonderlands, Feli! I said turn it off!" Lovino hollers stormily, prompting his brother to scamper to the record player in haste.

"Now where was I?" he redirects his usual glare back to the patiently waiting couple. "Oh, yeah. As your _capo_, you're under my jurisdiction, so any of your fuck-ups are ultimately my fuck-ups, and _my _boss will get pissed." Lovino menacingly points the end of his burned cigar towards Ludwig. "So _you_ better start using another way to fill our client's assignments before both our balls get cut off, _capisce_?"

"Yes, yes, we've got it, Lovino." Emma smiles prettily at her boss. "I'll make sure this one listens for once." She lightly squeezes her lover's arm in warning, gaze not once wavering from Lovino's frown. "Isn't that right, dear?"

"Of course," Ludwig answers stoically. "You have my word." Lovino scoffs in disdain.

"Yeah, yeah, that's what you said last time." He waves his hand in dismissal to both of his underlings, propping his feet back up on his desk and cigarette back in his mouth. "Now get out of here, you've got one last job for the night, if you haven't forgotten. Then you can celebrate Christmas Eve like the idiotic lovebirds you are."

Ludwig bows his head in thanks, while Emma swings around to the door, dragging her lover with her.

"You bet! We've got a diner for 9 o'clock at the Stork Club! Don't worry; this time I'll make sure we get the job done _just_ the way you want it. Bye, Lovino!" she waves her arm in farewell without looking back before exiting the room.

Lovino simply snorts derisively, grabbing the newspaper on his desk and flipping through the pages. Behind him, Feliciano sneaks back to the record player, Christmas themed vinyl in hand.

Translations:

famiglia - family

fratello - brother

il natale - christmas

capo - boss

capisce - understood


	3. Chapter 3

As the snow falls from the darkening sky over them, Emma and Ludwig walk through the streets of New York, arms linked together lovingly like any other couple outside and Christmas music playing softly in the air from all the shops around them while they argue good-naturedly.

"You needn't be so _stoic_ all the time, Ludwig! You've known Lovino for longer than I have, and you always act so stiff in front of him. I can't help but laugh, sometimes." The steely man in question colours faintly in embarrassment.

"I can't help it," he protests, "it's how I've been taught to act from my grandfather and my brother. Not that Gilbert necessarily practices what he preaches," he mutters drily.

Emma lets out peals of laughter and stands taller to kiss her lover's cheek, shaking her head lovingly, her perfect curls bouncing with the slight movement. "I love you all the same."

As they head to Fifth Avenue, she asks, "What time is it, lovely?"

"Nearly five," Ludwig answers after checking his wristwatch, leading them both around the corner to their destination.

"Ooh, perfect! That leaves us with enough time to freshen up for diner after we're done," Emma exclaims. "I'd hate to look dreadful for our outing, especially on Christmas Eve." Ludwig smiles softly, stopping in front of a building.

"You never look dreadful, darling." Emma pushes off of him playfully.

"Oh, stop it, you, you'll make me blush and that's no good for our job." She peers at the address written on the brick wall next to the entrance door, whistling lowly in approval. "Number thirty-three, is it? Well, this one's loaded. Their door is made of oak!"

Ludwig smiles in amusement. "Expert in the value of doors now, are we?"

She turns back towards Ludwig, playfully sticking her tongue out at him before grinning mischievously. "Hush, you. We'll definitely get a good sum out of this job. And don't forget," she adds, repeatedly poking Ludwig's chest for emphasis, "no mess, you."

"Never," the German replies. "You remember our back-story?" They move in unison up the steps leading to the front door.

"But of course! I've got my lines down to a T. I'm the next Ingrid Bergman," she teases as she knocks on the door twice.


	4. Chapter 4

"Toris! Get the door, would ya please?"Alfred shouts from his room, frowning as he adjusts his tie in front of his mirror.

"Right away, sir," replies the soft voice from the corridor. Alfred shakes his head in mock exasperation, crying out "I told you, no need for the 'sir', call me Alfred!"

Toris sighs once the shouted words reach his ears, walking to greet whoever's knocking at the front door.

Only once does he open the door with a click and a small "hello" does the sight before him take his breath away.

Standing before him is a couple – he thinks they're together, anyway – so beautiful they seem to have jumped out straight from the pictures.

The man is tall, with blond slicked-back hair and a jawline that could cut diamonds. His broad shoulders and cool blue gaze give him an imposing and austere aura, Toris thinks.

The woman, in comparison, exudes warmth and charm. Clad in the latest fashion, with her black dress under a fur coat and a matching clutch, she is all smiles and glamour, honey blond curls framing a soft face, not a streak to be seen from her perfectly applied lipstick. Toris can't help but think, however, when he sees those ruby lips curl into a sly grin for only a second, and the wicked glint in the woman's clear green eyes, that under all that air of grace and charisma, there is the sharp wit and dangerous allure of a vixen.

"Good evening," the woman purrs, effectively pulling Toris out of his nervous stupor, "We're terribly sorry to bother you – and on Christmas Eve, of all days! Is this the Jones's household?" She tilts her head to the side in an attempt to look through the slight door gap, behind Toris. He moves to block her view.

"Y-yes," he stammers, before straightening his posture and narrowing his eyes, slightly wary of these two individuals outside of his home. "But who might you be?" he asks a bit more firmly.

The woman gasps, bringing a gloved hand to her face in embarrassment. "Oh, dear me, how impolite of us! My name is Margaret Crawford, and this handsome man here is my husband." The man in question extends his hand for a handshake, speaking in a velvety baritone.

"Edward Crawford. Pleasure."

Toris loses his previous composure and fumbles to reciprocate the handshake through the door gap, his cheeks colouring faintly in his clumsiness. "A-and what brings you to Mr. Jones's household?"

"Ah," Margaret smiles knowingly, "Well, we've done a bit of business in the past with Mr. Jones. You just tell him who we are, he'll know it's an _urgent_ matter," she drawls seductively, finishing with a wink.

The way Margaret says all of this makes Toris gulp in uneasiness. What in the world does Alfred have to do with these people he's never before seen in his life? He usually knows about all his business transactions, when Alfred comes back home from work every evening complaining about all his clients and staff. What on earth has he gotten himself into now?

Nonetheless, a client is a client, and Toris opens the door after undoing the clasp chaining it to the doorframe.

"I'll l-let Mr. Jones know that he has two guests, then. If you'll follow me, please," Toris says, leading Margaret and Edward to the guest lounge. With a promise to not keep them waiting for too long, he leaves once they reach their destination, their thanks not reaching him as he hastily makes his way to Alfred's room. The man is holding two ties in his hand, still undecided, when Toris finds him.

"Hey, Toris!" he greets, "So, who was at the door? Man, I can't figure out which one of these to wear for tonight." He laughs, shaking his head to himself, "Kind of silly of me, huh? It's just a darn tie."

"The blue one," Toris replies breathlessly, restless and fidgeting with nervous agitation. "Alfred," at that, the American raises his head in surprise to hear his name being used instead of 'sir', "there's a couple asking for you downstairs, a Mrs. Margaret and Mr. Edward Crawford?"

Alfred stiffens at the mention of those names. "What are they doing here? I thought we were done with our business." As he hurriedly puts on his blue tie, he continues, "so, what do they want?"

"I-I'm not sure," Toris falters, "Something about an, um… an urgent matter."

"Alright," Alfred frowns, "Shouldn't keep them waiting too long then, huh?"


	5. Chapter 5

"So," Alfred says pleasantly, an easy grin on his face, "what kind of business brings you two here?"

Margaret and Edward are sitting side by side on a lover's couch, while Alfred sits comfortably in front of them, hands settled on the armrests and leg propped up on the other in a casual manner. "Oh," the businessman continues, "would you like something to drink? Whisky, scotch, wine…?"

"Some red wine would be lovely, thank you." Margaret answers with a closed-lip smile.

"Scotch. Smokey," is all that replies Edward.

Alfred smiles and turns to Toris, who has been standing behind him nervously all this time. Placing a hand on his arm fondly, Alfred says, "Two scotches, and one glass of red wine for the lady!"

As Alfred turns back to his guests once Toris leaves to grab their drinks, Margaret's sharp gaze turns to him knowingly.

"It seems you and your butler are very close, Mr. Jones." She crosses her legs neatly, folding her hands over them, all elegance in her movements.

"Aw, Toris? Yeah, I don't really think of him as my butler. We've known each other since we were kids, when his ma was working for my parents," Alfred replies without missing a beat, smile never wavering. "You could say we're best friends."

"A house servant and a corporate businessman, best friends?" Margaret simpers. "How unusual."

Toris comes back with everyone's drinks. As Margaret takes hers, raising it towards Toris in thanks, she turns to him. "You and Mr. Jones have quite a bit of history together, I've heard." She takes a sip of her wine, eyes looking up expectantly at the fidgeting man.

"A-ah, well, y-you see, yes, w – "

"Alright, enough chit-chat," Alfred interrupts forcefully with a wave of his hand, his smile slightly strained. "As I said before, to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you two again?"

Margaret places her glass of wine of the coffee table before them. "My, you're right, Mr. Jones! We don't want to impose or waste your time; you probably have an important diner with a special someone tonight for Christmas Eve," she says, eyes flitting to Toris for a split second before they settle back onto Alfred. Next to her, Edward is casually swishing the glass of scotch in his hand, sipping from it once in a while. The cool and calculating way his eyes gaze at the American betrays his relaxed posture.

"So let's cut to the chase, shall we? After all, we've also got a diner tonight," the young woman adds, patting her husband's knee affectionately. Her warm smile curls into a wicked leer.


	6. Chapter 6

"So," Emma starts, leaning on the mahogany dresser behind her. She nonchalantly plays with the wispy cigarette between her fingers, not sparing a glance at the two struggling young men in front of her. Ludwig has gone to put music on the record player at his lover's request. Woody Herman's _Let it snow_ is wafting in the air when he comes back, settling himself behind Toris and Alfred.

"I wouldn't struggle too much if I were you," Emma taunts, taking a drag of her cigarette. "You've both gotten quite the hit on the head." Alfred ignores her, movements even more jerky than before. Toris trembles, face turning into a sickly shade of green.

After Emma had placed her hand on Ludwig's knee, their silent cue to cut the act and go on with their job, the man had got up from his chair and asked for the bathroom, to which Alfred had pointed to the left corridor behind him. Ludwig had taken off his blazer and left it on the sofa before slowly heading to the doorframe and stopping right behind Alfred and Toris. In a flash, he turned around and gripped both their heads, smashing them against each other in one well-placed hit. They both crumpled in their seats.

As Ludwig securely tied the two unconscious men to their chairs with rope, Emma had looked on in mild interest, sipping from her glass of wine all the while.

"Crude, but effective," she had commented.

Now she was calmly gazing at Ludwig, who was keeping an eye on Alfred and Toris, glass left on the coffee table.

"Mr. Jones, are you familiar with the term _Omerta_?" she turns her head to her two targets, her languid gaze hiding a hint of mischievousness.

Alfred doesn't answer, only grunting with the effort to loosen his bonds keeping him tied to the chair. Next to him, Toris is frozen in fear, the ropes binding him to his chair securely. His harsh breaths give his terror away.

Behind Alfred, Ludwig is swinging a knife in the air in boredom, expertly catching it. He leans forward, murmuring next to the American.

"It's impolite to keep a lady waiting. I believe she asked you a question."

Emma waves her hand dismissively, taking one last smoke of her cigarette before dropping it and smothering it with her foot. "Oh, let him be, darling. He'll talk soon enough. And _no knives_," she adds, glancing pointedly at the knife in her lover's hand.

Ludwig sighs in regret and puts his weapon away. Emma hums in satisfaction before walking to the two men before her; Alfred has stopped struggling and is now looking up at her in defiance.

"Oh my," she coos mockingly, lifting Alfred's head with her dainty finger, "you've got quite the peepers! Not as pretty as my husband's, however," she winks at said man. Alfred simply snarls, jerking his head back from the woman and once again trying to pry his bound arms of the armrests, to no avail.

"Come now," Emma pouts, crossing her arms, "we don't have all night. The sooner you cooperate, the sooner we'll be out of your hair. I asked you if you were familiar with the term _Omerta_, Mr. Jones."

Alfred, huffing in pointless exertion, glares at her.

"Can't say I have, no."

"But you do know why we're here. Don't you, Mr. Jones," Emma purrs. Behind Alfred and Toris, Ludwig rolls his sleeves up. Toris gulps. Alfred chooses not to reply, his lips sealed in a tight line.

"You see," the woman continues, walking back to the dresser, "_Omerta_, as my colleagues and I prefer to call it, refers to our code of silence. And a little bird told us that a certain associate of ours," she continues, retrieving the bottle of wine on the dresser and pouring herself another glass, "got in cahoots with the police. Which is specifically against our code of silence."

She swishes her glass around before taking a sip, looking at Alfred in mock disappointment. "Now why would that be, Mr. Jones?"

Toris looks helplessly back and forth between the woman and Alfred, absolutely clueless as to what is going on.

"Um… I-I'm sorry, but what is g-going on?" he stammers, shrinking when he meets Ludwig's cool stare. Emma settles her glass on the dresser and claps her hands, looking positively gleeful.

"Oh my! Mr. Jones, you haven't told your _closest friend_, as you call him? How regrettable!"

She turns to the fearful man, who's now looking at Alfred in question. Alfred refuses to meet his gaze, much to Toris' confusion, as Emma explains.

"Your dear Alfred here has got himself into quite the pickle for the past few months, Toris. You see, he came to us because his company has been a bit in a slum for a while. One of his friends, he told us, recommended him to Mr. and Mrs. Crawford, experts in the art of subterfuge and fraud. So we made arrangements, a transaction, if you will: we'd deal with some of his competitors, and he'd give us a share of his profits. It was a win-win situation for everyone," she finishes.

"Until he stopped sending us the required amount." Ludwig supplies darkly.

Toris is gaping at Alfred, who still won't meet his eyes and slumps further down into his seat. He opens and closes his mouth, trying to find his words, until all that comes out is a wobbly "W-what..?"

"That's right, precious," Emma smiles sweetly. "Your dear Alfred here struck a deal with the Mafia, and thought he could've gone with the wind without us knowing. Well, it could have worked," she considers, tapping her finger against her chin as if in thought. "If only you hadn't rated us out to the police. We've got a few acquaintances in the department who told us about your little sham, thankfully."

It's at this point that Alfred lifts his head, body jerking as he tries to move towards Emma.

"Listen," he starts, slight desperation in his voice, "the deal didn't feel right anymore, alright? At first it was fine, but then I realised I couldn't go on with it. It was fucking illegal! I couldn't _not_ go to the police! And by telling them about our deal, my company will definitely shut down too so it's not just a loss for you!"

Emma smiles sharply, warm gaze suddenly hard. "You will find, Mr. Jones, that by having done so it will be an even greater loss to you than you expect. I'm afraid it isn't you who calls the shots, here. Once you strike a deal with us, it only becomes void once _we _decide so." With a nod of her head, she quips, "Darling. If you would be so kind."

Nodding, Ludwig rolls his sleeves again for good measure and takes a step to the side, standing behind Toris, who tenses in fear and trepidation.

Quick as lightning, Ludwig leans down and wraps an arm around Toris' neck, squeezing tightly. The young man's hands jerk instinctively in an attempt to grab the offending arm, but they don't budge, strapped by the ropes around them.

Alfred cries out, struggling to get out of his bonds and help Toris. He turns to Emma in anguish, who looks at him with a level gaze.

"You can't do this! Stop!"

"Oh, but you see, Mr. Jones," Emma hums, her voice sweet saccharine, "we can."

Raising her voice over the choking noises, she turns back to retrieve her glass of wine. "This is all bad business for us, Mr. Jones. You understand, as a businessman, I'm sure. You broke the code of silence, and we're only dealing with the consequences."

Ludwig, not even breaking a sweat, lifts his head from his work to look over to Emma. "Don't drink too much. You'll get a headache."

Emma takes a large gulp of her wine in spite. "Oh, hush you. I know my limits."

Alfred tries once again to convince the couple to stop with their ministrations. "Listen, I know with my company out of the loop and everything, I won't be as rich as before and all," he states, "but I'll give you everything I have, just – please! Let Toris go!"

"No dice," Emma quips. "We've got a job to do, and unlike you, Mr. Jones, we intend to carry it out to its fullest." At that, she glances over to Ludwig and Toris, whose twitching limbs have started to gone limp. "But, since you've been very polite, we'll finish up quickly."

At that, Ludwig glances towards Emma and gives a slight nod.

The sickening crunch of a snapped neck drowns out the last few notes of Frank Sinatra's _Christmas Dreaming_ drifting from the recorder.


	7. Chapter 7

Alfred is completely silent and unmoving, staring in anguish at the sight before him. Toris' blank and pale face stares back, settled at an odd angle. Ludwig gets up from his work, rolling his shoulders and grabbing his coat, left on the couch while Emma sighs, going for the pack of cigarettes left on the coffee table.

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Less messy than a knife," she quips, pulling a cigarette out from her pack and lighting it. Ludwig just rolls his eyes, stopping by the threshold of the room as he waits patiently for his lover.

That brings out Alfred of his stupor.

"Less messy…? _Less messy?!_" he roars, bucking against his chair in fury, arms trembling against the rope. "You're fucking nuts! You – _fucking_ – _killed_ – _Toris_," he grunts with each jerk of his arms or legs.

"Now, now," Emma tuts, humming in pleasure at the first drag of her smoke, "no need to flip your wig, Mr. Jones. These are simply the consequences of _your _actions. Surely you knew ratting us out to the police wouldn't come with some sort of payment?"

Alfred deflates at those words, heaving shuddering breaths. Ludwig waits calmly, looking at the scene with the same cool stare he's kept the entire ordeal.

Emma walks coolly towards the defeated man, lifting his head to meet her knowing gaze. Piercing eyes look back at her, anger and grief swirling up a storm beneath their azure hue.

"It does not matter whether you bribe us with more money, Mr. Jones – once you break _Omerta_, you break the deal. And breaking the code of silence is punishable by death. You knew all of this when we explained it to you four months ago, when you came to us for our assistance." Her steady gaze never strays from his face. "Or did you suddenly forget about these rules when you no longer wanted to be the Mafia's associate?" she inquires, blowing a ring of smoke into Alfred's face.

He coughs at that and snarls at the woman in front of him, not bothering with an answer. Emma sighs and backs away from his face, playing with her cigarette in between her fingers before finally pointing it menacingly in Alfred's direction. Beneath her shrewd gaze there hides ill intent, red lips curling into a cruel smile.

"Now, here's what going to happen, because you're still not off the hook with us – some of our members will take care of the body later tonight and will untie you; you are to behave when they do so. They have orders not to kill you, but any other measures they deem necessary to restrain you, should you act out, are of no matter to us. Since you are still a reputable man among the business world, we will not touch you; however, you are to rebuild your company, which will no longer be under your jurisdiction, but ours. You are no longer an associate of our family as well; merely a puppet, if you will. If we hear any trouble from you again, believe me when I say we will come back to make what little of a life you have left absolute hell."

Alfred's next words come out garbled. "What more could I lose, you bitch? I lost _everything_," he croaks. "So what makes you think I'd listen to the likes of you if I've got nothing left?!"

Emma hums in derision. "How romantic," she croons. As wisps of smoke coil in the air around her, she takes another drag of her cigarette.

"Like I've said before, you're a talented man, Mr. Jones, particularly in the world of business. As we've seen these past few months," she says.

"However," she continues, "while you may be valuable to us," she moves forward once again, pressing her lips against Alfred's ear as she murmurs,

"You are nonetheless, still replaceable."

She drags the burnt end of her cigarette against the man's neck, who hisses in pain.

"And you'll find," she whispers, "if we ever deem your days as an asset are over, that for those who are considered expendable, the Mafia has a number of ways to shatter, break and splinter body and soul. After all," she finishes, "we've been in this business far longer than you have, Mr. Jones. I wouldn't spew futile threats if I were you."

"So don't you worry your pretty little face, Mr. Jones," Emma assures, "we always find something for those like you. You will, believe me, listen to us." She lets go of his face, smoothing down her dress and smiling down at the American. "Besides, I wouldn't shed tears too long for, oh; what was his name again?" She looks down at the mangled body next to Alfred, tilting her head in mock inquisitiveness, before snapping her fingers. "Oh, yes! Toris, was it?" Behind them, Ludwig nods imperceptibly, absently checking his watch.

"Twenty past seven, darling," he says. Emma smiles warmly in his direction.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

Turning back to Alfred, she claps her hands in finality. "Well, I'm sure you can find yourself another pretty little thing to fawn over. You're a handsome fellow, it won't be difficult to make a pass to the next _woman_ who meets your eyes," she presses. Alfred glares at her wordlessly, eyes still cloudy with unshed tears and anger.

"Now," she continues, "I hope our agreement settles with you. I'm afraid we'll have to leave; we've still got a reservation at the Stork Club waiting for us."

Walking over to her lover, she turns around to the broken man, giving a little wave before she heads back out into the snowy New York streets, Ludwig in tow.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Jones."

* * *

><p>Next chapter will be the last one!<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

Emma and Ludwig are sitting amidst the Stork Club's dining room, sipping on their drinks and waiting for their food. Around them, people are talking and laughing at their own tables. The owner, Sherman Billingsley, is walking around and about, shaking hands with patrons and customers, laughing along with celebrities and clients, joyfully slapping the backs of old friends and sharing a smoke. A few tables down, a band plays the rendition of Benny Goodman and Peggy Lee's _Winter Weather_, the melody drifting in the room.

Emma props her elbow on the table, chin on hand, swirling her glass of red wine languidly. She catches Ludwig's eye in front of her and smiles warmly. He sighs, shaking his head.

"This is your third glass of wine tonight." She hears the concern in his voice and sticks her tongue out at him in jest.

"You know better than anyone I can hold my liquor, _Mister_ Beilschmidt," she replies. "Or did you forget the time I drank you under the table when we went out with friends?" She takes a sip of her wine, eyes never straying from her lover's face.

Ludwig rolls his eyes and smiles. "Gilbert won't let me forget. Neither will Lovino, for that matter."

Emma spots a waiter heading their way and says, "Speaking of which…"

The waiter stops in front of their table and hands over a slip of paper to Ludwig, letting the couple know their food will arrive shortly before he leaves to attend to other customers. Ludwig opens the folded note and reads.

Ciao_ lovebirds,_

_Heard that you finished your job. Antonio and Gilbert went over and took care of the rest. Since you two like it when I give you the gory details and I'm in a festive mood thanks to alcohol and Feli's never-ending annoying Christmas singing, here you go. Mr. Jones wasn't too much of a fucker, apparently – Gilbert had to knock him out when he saw Antonio clean up the body but other than that he's still on board with our deal. Not that he has a choice, but that's not the point. Job's done and my boss is pleased with the outcome, so we're all still in his fucking good graces._

_You both did well, considering there was no mess at the scene this time, so congratulations on restraining your man, Miss Martens. Your payment should arrive later tonight. Your next job is in two days, come see me tomorrow evening for more information._

_Have fun at the Stork Club. If Marilyn Monroe is there tonight take a picture of her and have her sign it for me._

_And don't forget to get of this stupid note when you're done with it._

Buon Natale,

_L._

Ludwig wordlessly hands over the letter to Emma, who laughs once she finishes reading. She shakes her head as she brings the note to the candle in the middle of the table and burns it.

"He likes to talk when he's drunk, doesn't he," she muses as they both watch the flames lick the remnants of the paper, ashes falling neatly on the white tablecloth. "And who knew he had a thing for Marilyn Monroe?" Ludwig nods and takes a sip of his drink, wrinkling his nose in slight distaste.

"How is it?" Emma teases when she notices the face her lover sports.

"Not as good as the one I had earlier," he frowns, glaring down at the offending drink.

Emma hums, propping her hands under her chin and looking out in thought. "He _did_ have a nice selection of drinks, didn't he? Maybe Mr. Jones is a connoisseur in alcoholic beverages." She pouts when she reaches for her glass, only to find that it is empty. It is then that a waiter arrives with their meals; they thank him, and Emma asks for a full bottle of wine before he ushers out. Ludwig raises his eyebrows at that.

"What," Emma simpers, "Am I not allowed to celebrate a job well done, as well as Christmas Eve? Let a girl have some fun, darling!" she jokes, cutting into her sirloin steak.

"Ever the drama queen," Ludwig sighs, ignoring the snarky _don't be such a fuddy-duddy _from his lover in favour of biting into his own meal. "How is your dinner?"

"Exquisite as always," she answers, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. "The ritzy Stork Club never fails to dazzle." A comfortable silence follows for a while, each digging into their supper, until Emma breaks it.

"Oh, but he does know how to pick them, doesn't he?" she grins, popping the cork of her bottle and pouring herself another glass.

"Who?" Ludwig asks between bites, shaking his head when Emma offers him wine. "You know I don't like wine."

"Don't knock it 'till you try it," Emma sing-songs, placing the bottle back on the table. "You haven't had this brand yet. And I was talking about Mr. Jones' servant, Toris."

"His plaything?" he says. Emma reaches out to smack his arm playfully, gasping in mock appall.

"Shush, you, we're in public! But yes, I was referring to his domestic. He was lovely, wasn't he? A bit on the nervous side, but very nice and polite. And he was a bit of a looker, too, with those big green eyes of his and that porcelain skin. Such a pretty little thing. I'm jealous," she says, ruffling her curls and twirling a strand of her hair around one of her manicured fingers.

"You're perfectly lovely, sweetheart," Ludwig assures her. Emma blows him a kiss in return, complete with a voiced _mwah_ for effect.

"You charmer, you." She smiles at him and turns back to her steak. "In any case," she continues, "it's a shame he had to go." Ludwig gives her a deadpan look.

"Really, now." Emma's smile turns to a wicked grin.

"Oh, but of course! I mean, with all his looks, no wonder Mr. Jones fell for him. He was almost effeminate in nature. But alas," she finishes, pushing her empty plate away from her, "Mr. Jones decided to get under our skin, and Toris was the one to pay the price. Poor dear," she coos scornfully.

"You're too kind," Ludwig snorts. Emma winks at him.

"Someone here has to be, and it won't be you, with your big burly frame and your intimidating face. Toris would have never let you in their house if it had just been you at the door. Besides, we had to let someone have it, and it wasn't going to be Mr. Jones. Toris was simply at the wrong place, at the wrong time. It was just a most _unfortunate_ accident," she simpers, bright green eyes alight with maliciousness, glass of wine once again in her hand.

"You are a terrifying woman," Ludwig shakes his head in amusement, also finished with his meal. "I'm glad I'm not on your bad side."

"You say I'm terrifying, but you're the one who does all the dirty work," retorts Emma. "I would hate for you to use your brute strength on me. Except," she adds with a quirk or her lips, "in regards to certain affairs."

Ludwig reddens at that and says, "We're in public, dear." Emma tilts her head back elegantly, peals of laughter escaping her.

"No need to chew me out. Oh, you're so fun to tease, sweetheart." She gazes back at her lover then, and Ludwig goes tense, slightly wary at the mischievous glint in her eyes. "But if you want a peek at my new corset tonight, you'll have to show me what those big arms of yours can do," she winks.

A discreet cough to their side catches their attention, and the couple turns their head towards the flustered server waiting to take their orders for dessert. Emma smirks and asks for caramel custard while Ludwig slaps his hands to his face, stoic expression never wavering despite the burning red of his cheeks.

Once the waiter leaves, Emma glances towards her lover and chuckles at his mortified expression.

"One would think you'd have gotten used to my antics by now," she teases. When the first notes of Frankie Carle's _Little Jack Frost Get Lost_ drift from the band in the room, she gasps and gets up, clapping her hands in excitement.

"This song is wonderful! Get up and show me what those stompers of yours can do while we wait for dessert," she exclaims, as Ludwig reluctantly follows her to the floor. He grabs her hand as she leads them in the middle of the crowd, until they're hidden amidst other couples swaying to the music. Ludwig circles her waist with one arm and clasps his other hand with hers before leading her with clumsy steps.

"You know I'm a dead hoofer, darling," he sighs, then smiles, pulling her closer to him. "But for you, I'll try." Emma answers with one of her own dazzling grins.

"Oh, I do love you so, Mr. Beilschmidt."

"And I you, Miss Martens" he replies simply, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Emma wrinkles her nose in amusement before letting go of his hold, cupping Ludwig's face with both her hands and leaning forward.

"If you really do, come and give me a big one with that kisser of yours," she whispers against his lips, teasing. Pink settles over Ludwig's cheeks once again but he inches forward, arms wrapped around her waist, lips catching hers. Emma hums and smiles in the kiss, dainty fingers tousling Ludwig's slicked back hair into disheveled locks.

They part, and Emma's eyes twinkle in the light. As a more upbeat song starts playing, she lets go of her beau's face to take one of his hands in hers, leading him further into the fray of swinging couples and swishing skirts, her feet moving wildly to the rhythm. Ludwig stumbles but tries to follow her steps, and she smiles up at him.

Blue meets green, and in that moment there is only them and Duke Ellington's _Cotton Tail_ playing around them.

"Let's dance."


End file.
